


Vienna Waits for You

by kyrieanne



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is a truth universally acknowledged: life doesn’t have fairytale endings. They don’t exist beyond the pages of books. If they did, Lizzie Bennet would have gotten her’s when she was twenty-five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vienna Waits for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musiwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiwrites/gifts).



> Thank you to diaphenia for cheerleading and beta genius.

 

 

 

*******

_You got your passion, you got your pride_

_But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?_

_Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true_

_When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?_

-Vienna, Billy Joel

 

*******

Here is a truth universally acknowledged: life doesn’t have fairytale endings.

They don’t exist beyond the pages of books. If they did, Lizzie Bennet would have gotten her’s when she was twenty-five.

At twenty-five a rich, handsome single man fell in love with her and her with him. There had been obstacles and a lot of angst, but they overcame and found one another on the other side.

It made for a great story.

Surely this had been her happy ending? He literally swept her off her feet. She has the video evidence to prove it.

What her videos didn’t capture? The after in happily ever after. After she moved to San Francisco to launch her digital media production company. After the camera stopped recording. The story always stops at the after, but the thing that Lizzie has figured out is that every new beginning is also an ending. At twenty-five being with William Darcy marked the end of something that she hadn’t been ready to let go of.

The truth is they made a mess of it. Both of them, but especially her. Lizzie imagines William would say he made a mess of it, but he puts too much pressure on himself. He always has. When they broke up she was happy to let him take the blame, but in her more honest moments she would point the finger at herself.

The truth is it was death by a thousand paper cuts. All the challenges piled up in a jumble, spilling over into the corners of her brain, littering up her heart, until her happiness felt ransomed. The cost of being with him was too much and even the magic of happily ever after broke under a weight like that.

They’d both been right and they’d both been wrong.

Her company hadn’t been successful right away. She made mistakes. She partnered with investors Darcy warned her against and it turned out he had been right on that one.

But she had been right to insist they shouldn’t move in together. It was too soon. But he was William with his gentle means of persuasion (There was this one thing he did with his mouth and left hand working together that was particularly effective at distracting Lizzie). He asked her to move in with him and the truth is Lizzie had wanted to. She wanted to be with him. That had been true, but so was the doubt in her gut. Her gut screamed that it was too soon. She should have insisted on her own place with room to establish herself.

Both right and both wrong. That might be the hardest part for Lizzie to accept - it could have turned out differently if they had made different choices.

Years later, Lizzie can’t help but smile when she thinks about William. She misses him sometimes. She misses the space in his arms, the stubble of his cheek, and the careful affection he showed her. She misses the way he loved; he truly did take care of the people he loved. It’s never stopped being one of her favorite things about him. Her independence is important to her - vital even - but to be cherished - looked after - is nice too. The older she gets the more Lizzie misses it.

Twenty-five year-old Lizzie Bennet had not missed it. She had had something to prove and it can be suffocating to receive the kind of care William was used to giving. It wasn’t long before Lizzie felt like she was drowning in the Darcy family name. He was everywhere in her field. Every introduction started with, “This is William Darcy’s girlfriend, Lizzie Bennet…” and each time someone dropped his name before her own something chipped away in her and Lizzie tried to get over it. She really did. She tried so hard to smile through it. William’s name wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do it to her. It was simply the truth of being with him and with so many new things in her life Lizzie had not handled it well. Neither of them had.

“Do you want me to just give up my name?” he shouted at her once in the car. She had been mad at him for something, though Lizzie can’t remember what now.

“Maybe,” she snapped back, “Women have been doing it for generations. Maybe it’s your turn. See how it feels.”

When her sisters asked her what had happened between them (their mother was crying too hard to get words out), Lizzie couldn’t help herself.

“Patriarchy,” she sniped and emptied her wine glass before fleeing to her former room to hide.

But that isn’t true.

It takes Lizzie five years and at least two rebound relationships to admit it to herself.

Patriarchy wasn’t the reason her happily ever after didn’t come true. The truth is much simpler and much harder than that. The truth is that her pride got in the way.

She’d been so worried about being overshadowed that she didn’t want to admit to herself that she and William weren’t on the same playing field. She was just starting out and he ran an already established digital media company. She had been comparing herself to him and it hadn’t been fair to either of them.

But Lizzie had been so determined to have her story be a success story that she lost perspective. It wasn’t until later - after their breakup - when Lizzie got her first “big” break that she realized how small she was compared to him. The smallness had nothing to do with talent. It had nothing to do with anything but the simple facts.  He’d been doing this longer. He’d inherited something already established. He had resources and staffs of people while Lizzie worked out of a Starbucks because they had free wi-fi.

It took her almost a year after they broke up for her to admit that William Darcy’s success did not equate to her failure.

It took her even longer to admit the rest of the ways her pride had failed her, the more intimate admissions Lizzie couldn’t blame on an unfair society, but we’ll get to those parts.

This is the story of Lizzie Bennet’s pride. And like the story of her prejudice - it starts with William Darcy and a wedding.

***

“So are you nervous?” Charlotte asked as they pulled onto the highway.

It is raining because of course it would rain on night she has to attend a wedding where her handsome, rich ex-boyfriend will be in attendance. He will be there with his beautiful wife and Lizzie will be there with frizzy hair and smudged eye makeup. The rain is, in Lizzie’s estimation, proof that the universe is determined she cry by the end of the night.

“No,” Lizzie sighs and yanks down the visor to use its mirror in a vain attempt to fix the damage.

“Liar.”

“In the four years since we broke up I’ve attended exactly thirteen social functions where William was also there and I’ve survived every single one of them.”

“The fact that you’ve kept count is telling.”

“What does it say?” Lizzie snaps the visor shut and glares at her best friend. “Seriously, what?”

Charlotte just lifts an eyebrow at her.

Lizzie blusters, “This one isn’t any different.”

“It’s the first one since he’s been married.And you don’t have any feelings regarding Mrs. William Darcy?”

“First, the fact that she actually goes by that tells me everything I need to know about her. Second, I’m not nervous because she’s just a person who married a guy I used to date. That’s it. And third, do you think we can stop at the gas station before we get to the church? I need to buy candy to get me through the ceremony.”

“You’re bringing snacks to a ceremony?”

“Have you ever been to a Catholic wedding with High Mass?”

“No,” Charlotte says nervously.

“Well, it’s long. Like full feature film long. Snacks are a must and possibly alcohol. Though they do provide that.”

Charlotte switches lanes toward the upcoming exit.

“You know you can’t judge a woman just because she chooses to go by her husband’s name.”

Lizzie rolls her eyes,“She invited me to her freaking bridal shower and the return address said Future Mrs. William Darcy. I’m obligated to judge her for that.”

“That was over a year ago.”

“Still a valid judgement.”

Both of them jump as a semi truck cuts in front of them to get to the exit first.

“Fucker,” Charlotte yells.

“Are you sure you aren’t a little wound up?” Lizzie raises an eyebrow.

“Dr. Gardner is the only person I’d do this for,” Charlotte mutters as she pulled into the gas station, “A wedding on Christmas Eve. Who the hell does that?”

“Tell me about it. This is going to be hell,” Lizzie says as she climbs out of the car. She tries to shield her hair with her coat, but it really is no use.

“Ha!” Charlotte laughs over the sound of water hitting the pavement and semi trucks coasting on the highway, “I knew you’re nervous.”

“Killjoy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

“So I’ve got the the twilzzers  and sour patch kids,” Lizzie says as they pull into the church parking lot. “And you’ve got the peppermint patties in your purse, right?”

“Lizzie?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Her best friend turns off the car and in the darkness of the rain and the parking lot Lizzie can make out the worry on her friend’s face.

“Yeah,” Lizzie tries to make her voice reassuring, “I’ll be okay. He’s happy. I want him to be happy.”

“But what about you?”

Lizzie laughs, “It’s one night, Char. Not a referendum on my life choices.”

She squeezes her bestie’s hand and Charlotte exhales, “Let’s make a deal - if we both get through the night without crying I’ll finally find time to book that cruise we keep talking about taking, but never make time for.”

Lizzie quirks her head, “Why would you cry tonight?”

Charlotte lifts a shoulder, “You know how everyone cries at weddings.”

Lizzie isn’t quite sure what her friend means, but she nods, “Fine. We’ve got a deal. No tears we finally go on that cruise. I don’t think I’ll have a hard time keeping that deal.”

They both face forward toward the church, which is lit up like a torch against the winter sky.

It’s Christmas Eve. Lizzie should be with her family - her parents, Lydia, Jane, Bing, and baby Violet. It’s 7 o’clock which means Lydia has managed to burn the ham and their mother has cried at least twice and her father is tucked in his study with Violet while Jane tries to keep peace and Bing just grins because he loves the chaos of the Bennet family. Lizzie smiles at the picture in her head. A few years ago she wouldn’t have, but now she does. She misses them tonight. She misses the comfortable tradition of family. But instead she’s going to attend a wedding with her ex-boyfriend and his new wife. It’s the definition of awkward and Charlotte is right - she is nervous. How could she not be?

But there is no threat of Lizzie crying. She isn’t sad. She stopped being sad about William Darcy years ago.

No. She just wants to get through this evening without doing something incredibly stupid because she lied to Charlotte. The truth is she’s seen William fourteen times in the five years since they broke up - the thirteen industry functions she admitted to Charlotte and one other time.

Last year he showed up at her doorstep (in the rain) on the night of his wedding. That was the night she’d done something incredibly idiotic and kissed his stupid face. His stupid face with those lips that parted under her’s. A year later she can still feel the gasp of breath he took when she pressed her hands to his skin. She remembers how he pushed her against the door to her apartment and caught her hair in his fingers. She remembers the need between them, ardent and desperate. She remembers every moment of that kiss. It echoes in her dreams. It had been a fabulous kiss. Epic. The making of fairy tales.

But nothing like that was going to happen tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

Thanks to their pitstop at the gas station, Charlotte and Lizzie are late so they’re regulated to the balcony. There has to be at least five hundred people here. Dr. Gardner was one of six and if Lizzie can remember correctly Mr. Dr. Gardner (which will always and forever be his name in Lizzie’s head) is one of seven. It’s likely half the people in the church are related in some way to the grinning couple standing at the front of the church.

They look so happy Lizzie feels it in her chest. It’s the first marriage for both of them and she can’t help but love the late-in-life love story. It felt more real than young love.

When Mr. Dr. Gardner chokes up on his vows Charlotte hands Lizzie the peanut butter cups. When Dr. Gardner quotes Shakespeare as part of her vows Lizzie feels the tears threaten brim and forces herself to think of hot guys bringing her fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. She fists her hands around the seat of the pew and tries not to think about that night.

She tries to force it out of her mind, but really it’s impossible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

__

_“I’m getting married tomorrow,” he says to her, wide-eyed and desperate, when she opens the door._

__

_“Will, what are you doing here?”_

__

_“I’m getting married tomorrow.”_

__

_Lizzie holds onto the frame because she’s not feeling quite steady. If the King of England had shown up at her door just now she would have been less surprised._

__

_“I know,” she finally manages._

__

_“Are you coming? To the wedding, I mean.”_

__

_She opens her mouth to speak, but there are no words. She remembers pressing her pen into the thick cream RSVP card. A black check mark next to Decline. She’d gone over it twice to make sure the mark was sure and final._

__

_He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a breath, “Of course you’re not coming.”_

__

_“I think it’s for the best,” she says softly._

__

_“Yeah,” he looks down the hall and it’s then that she notices that his shoulders are wet._

__

_“It’s raining?” She looks back over her shoulder into her apartment for the nearest window. It is raining, pinging against her window pane._

__

_“Yeah. It started once I got in my car.”_

__

_She turns back to him with a half smile, “The night of my 25th birthday it was Charlotte who showed up at my door in the rain,” she immediately regrets saying it because William is staring at her with that steady gaze that pools heat in her stomach. His head is tipped down and to the left as if it’s the perfect angle from which to see her. She recognizes the lilt of his head and she wishes he’d stop looking at her like that._

__

_“It wasn’t raining by the time I got there, but I remember the drizzle on the taxi ride over.”_

__

_She wonders if he really remembers it or if he only does because he’s seen her videos and imagined the memory. How much of their past was real and how much of it was mitigated through her videos?_

__

_She swallows, “Will, why are you really here?”_

__

_“Should I get married tomorrow?”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

“Lizzie Bennet, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

She jumps at the voice. Even all these years later it does something to her - sends goosebumps shivering up her bare arms. She feels the tension leak down her spine as she goes ramrod straight.

George Wickham. Or as William referred to him the one time they had both gotten drunk on vodka - George Fucker Fucking Wickham.

Lizzie’s head snaps up and there he is in bodily form standing in front of her from the other side of the bar. She blinks and then she blinks again. He holds that smile, the crooked one she once felt butterflies over.

Then someone jostles her arm and it snaps her out of her shock. She’s standing on one side of the bar and he is on the other. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and black vest and she realizes he’s working the wedding. He’s a bartender at Dr. Gardner’s wedding.

Of course he is, she thinks. Because this night could literally not get worse the universe had to throw George Wickham in for extra measure.

For a half a second Lizzie considers taking the glass of red wine in her hand and dumping it over his head. She considers yelling all the insults she’s stored up over five years. She could drown out the music Dr. Gardner and her new husband are going to make their grand entrance to. She could make a scene and she wouldn’t feel unjustified in it at all.

But she doesn’t.

In that moment Lizzie does nothing. She says nothing. She simply sets the glass down, turns on her heel, and walks away.

She tries to appear calm, but really she’s shaking. She just needs to make it to the doors of the ballroom and out of the view of George. Once she is through those doors she will run. She’ll run for a hidden corner or a bathroom stall. She’ll stay there until she stops shaking because that is what’s happening right now. She is shaking on the inside. It comes like a wave and Lizzie has no idea where it’s all coming from.

It’s been five years…

Surely her anger would have dissipated by now? Surely she hasn’t been carrying it around this whole time? But she can’t analyze anything right now. She can barely think a fully formed thought except that she needs to get through those doors.

She slips past Dr. Gardner’s mother and there she is on the threshold of the door. Lizzie is so desperate to reach the door and escape that she blindly tears around the corner and right into the arms of William Darcy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

_“Should you get married tomorrow?” Lizzie screeches. “How can you ask me that?”_

__

_For the first time since she opened the door Lizzie feels like herself. She regains her voice and stares at William with a look she perfected a long time ago. It was her you-idiot face. He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, a blush rises to his cheeks, and Lizzie’s heart sinks._

__

_“What’s really wrong?” she says softly._

__

_“I need to talk,” his voice catches, “to someone who knows me.”_

__

_“What about Bing or Fitz or Gigi?”_

__

_“I need to talk to you. You’re still my best friend.”_

__

_It hurts her to hear him say that because after four years she wished he’d had found someone to trust the way he’d once trusted her._

__

_“Can I come in?” he looks over her shoulder into her apartment._

__

_She considers her bed and her couch and all the other private, horizontal places on the other side of her door and exhales._

__

_“No, I don’t think you should. It’s not a good idea. But if you want we can sit in the hall.”_

__

_They do that - backs against the wall, side by side, with beers at their feet. Lizzie tucks her left foot under her right knee and waits for him to talk. He sips the beer stoically, with greater concentration than probably any beer has ever been drank in the history of time. She smiles a little at the picture of William Darcy, CEO, drinking PBR. She doubts he even realizes its not a craft beer._

__

_He opens a second and sips it twice before he finally finds his voice._

__

_“I’m afraid Christine is a substitute for you.”_

__

_“Will…,” she starts._

__

_“I just need you to listen as my friend. Not as my ex-girlfriend. But my friend. Just listen, please. Can you do that?”_

__

_“Of course.”_

__

_“She’s pregnant.”_

__

_“Oh.”_

__

_“That’s why the short engagement. Appearances are important to her and she doesn’t want people to think we got married just cause of the baby.”_

__

_“Is that why you’re getting married?”_

__

_“I don’t know. Yes? No? I love her. She’s nice. I know you’d think she’s ridiculous.”_

__

_“The Future Mrs. Darcy stationary was a bit much,” she whispers and side-eyes him. His lips tug up a bit and she smiles in return._

__

_He tucks his chin, “She’s gentle the way my mother was gentle. She’s smart too in a way you and I aren’t. She’s smart about people. She’s good at taking care of people.”_

__

_“She sounds lovely.”_

__

_“She is,” he says with conviction, “she’ll make an excellent mother.”_

__

_Lizzie licks her lips. He wants her to be his friend right now but there is no way to divide their present conversation from their past. She hesitates because she feels like it’s a loaded question, but it is the question she needs to ask. “But why are you marrying her?”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

Lizzie runs right into the arms of William Darcy.

“Lizzie.”

“Will.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I didn’t either.”

“I mean I thought you might be. It makes sense you’d be here,” she swallows, “ I know Dr. Gardner is a friend.”

“I was hoping I’d see you here too,” he lets go of her and Lizzie clears her throat as she steps out of his grasp. She looks at him and the is a nervous eagerness in his eyes that tips her stomach upside down.

“She’s my mentor,” Lizzie offers as way of explanation.

“Of course.”

“Lizzie, there you are.”

And there is the universe continuing its pattern of screwing with her. George Wickham stands behind her, a little out of breath from chasing after her.

Even though they aren’t touching, Lizzie can feel the tension slide through William. He clears his throat, “If you’ll excuse me Lizzie, I think dinner is starting.”

And then he is gone and Lizzie is standing there with George who considers her with a small smile.

“Some things never change do they?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, “Go away, please.”

He holds up two hands, “I just want to talk to you.”

She backs away, “There’s nothing I want to hear you say.”

Lizzie flees into the crowd of people pressing toward the tables in the center of the ballroom. She weaves her way toward Charlotte who has taken up residence at one of the outer tables. The only other person sitting with her is an older man who is carefully folding his handkerchief up into tiny squares.

“This is remote,” Lizzie sinks down into her chair.

“I don’t feel like making small talk tonight,” Charlotte hands Lizzie a glass of wine. Lizzie notices that Charlotte’s is already half empty. “Besides,” her bestie shrugs, “I figured you wouldn’t want to muck it up with Darcy and all his industry buddies.”

Lizzie glances across the room at William’s back. He is sitting at the table she wished she could be sitting at. Those were her peers too. Over the past five years she’s worked hard to earn a place at that table and tonight she could say with confidence that if she went and sat down next to William Darcy no one would assume she was his girlfriend. They all knew her name because of her accomplishments, not his.

But tonight that doesn’t seem to matter because Lizzie still can’t sit at the table. Like always, with Darcy it’s always too complicated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

Lizzie doesn’t eat more than a buttered roll for dinner, which is a mistake because Charlotte keeps refilling both of their glasses with wine. Every time her best friend comes back from the bar Lizzie holds her breath and waits for it.

“Lizzie, George Wickam is here. Seriously?”

But Charlotte never says anything more than, “Here you go,” as she hands Lizzie a glass.  Lizzie doesn’t know if George has disappeared somewhere  or if Charlotte really is that distracted that she doesn’t notice him. But Lizzie refuses to scope out the room for George. She doesn’t want to give him any encouragement to try to talk to her again.

Beside her Charlotte hides behind her phone. At the front of the room the wedding party is giving toasts to the happy couple.  Lizzie frowns and wonders what Charlotte’s problem is, but then there is laughter from the table where William sits and Lizzie’s thoughts are dragged away.

Even from across the room, Lizzie can see William’s back. She can tell from the slope of his shoulders and how he turns his whole head to listen to the people around him that he’s uncomfortable.

One of the first lessons to learn about William is that there is the Darcy the world sees and then there is the real William. Real William is an entirely different creature than this person she watches over the rim of her wine glass. If he were himself he would lean forward. He would talk with his hands. The real William Darcy uses his hands to communicate. It took her by surprise even once they started dating. He is much more comfortable with casual touch than Lizzie. A hand to the shoulder. Two fingers on the inside of the elbow. A gentle pressure on the back. It is his way of connecting when his words can’t. The real William Darcy is hardly a robot. All Lizzie has to do is look for his elbows pinned to his side and she can tell his mood and guess his thoughts.

She hates that she can do that.

She hates that after all this time she still knows him because it’s a reminder that at one point she was granted access. William is the inverse of Lizzie. He is very careful with his heart, but once he lets you in everything about him is truly and freely given. He is not a man of reservations.

But Lizzie is. She has a lot of acquaintances in her life. She befriends people casually, but she holds her cards very close to her chest. As she sits there and watches William she wonders who would be able to tell her moods and guess her thoughts just by looking at her. Who knew her that well?

Next to her, Charlotte mutters something about work as she furiously tweets. Charlotte might. And as she tears her eyes away from William’s back (It’s too much to keep watching him and not being able to touch him) Lizzie concentrates on taking another sip of wine and thinks of her family. Her family might.They know her.

But it’d been to William that she’d confessed herself.

The memories slip forward like songs, one queued up after the other:  

The first: tucked into the curve of his arm, hands exploring idly across his chest, a sheen of sweat across her neck, and the two of them in the shadow of their bedroom. _I’m afraid_ _I’m too selfish to be a mother_ , she’d whispered into his skin.

A second: over dinner (grilled cheese and white wine because it was her night to cook) he with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and her with her bare feet in his lap. I _’m ambitious, she said, but I feel like I shouldn’t be because it feels unfeminine and it makes me mad that the world is like this_ , she’d sighed.

Still another:  not a night but a day she called him knowing he was in a board meeting and her walking to her own meeting, he answered and she said in a rush, _I’m not good with feelings. I have them and its like they get bunched up in my throat until I’m choking and they just come spilling out at all the wrong times in all the wrong ways. That’s what happened with you. I wanted to say something at Pemberley, but I couldn’t find the words and then Lydia and there you were and I got a second chance. I’m afraid I won’t always get a second chance. I’m afraid someday my feelings are going to come too late._

Over the course of a hundred nights and days Lizzie Bennet had confessed herself to William Darcy. Lizzie belonged to Charlotte and her family. She’d been in their orbit since the moment she was born. That would never change. But William Darcy - she’d chosen him. She picked him out of all the people she kept casually at arm’s length.

He had been her choice, but it hadn’t worked out. Not every ending is a fairy tale.

She looks across the room at his back and she knows that if their positions switched he would be able to read every feeling drumming in her ears right now. He’d understand and if things were different between them he’d reach under the table and intwine their fingers together. He’d squeeze her hand and in that pressure Lizzie would find solace. But that’s impossible because William isn’t looking at her. He’ll never look at her like that again. He chose someone else.

She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling because it really is a morbid thought. And Lizzie hopes there is a god because she wants someone to be able to bear the brunt of her disdain about this evening. She wants to tell the universe that this really is the worst way to spend Christmas Eve. She should be with her family, not staring at the back of her ex-boyfriend and drinking her regrets.

Lizzie checks her phone and groans inwardly. It’s only nine o’clock and she hasn’t even had a chance to say hello to Dr. Gardner. She has to do that before she can leave.

It’s nine o’clock on Christmas Eve and that means that her mother has opened the Mulberry wine, which everyone agrees is the worst possible way to ingest alcohol, but Mrs. Bennet loves it and her daughters love seeing her tipsy. Her drawl lengthens and with enough Mulberry wine in her system she stops worrying about being a lady and let loose. It is the highlight of the Bennet family holiday season and Lizzie is going to miss it. She steals a glance at William’s back and inwardly flinches at the memory of last Christmas, her mother, and Mulberry wine.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

_“You know Elizabeth I never understood what happened with you and William Darcy, but I have a theory,” Mrs. Bennet says two and a half glasses into the Mulberry wine._

__

_Lizzie groans and starts to get up to leave the room. Her mother doesn’t need wine to retread the worn out ground of her How-Lizzie-Ruined-Her-Life schtick._

__

_But Lydia grabs her wrist and tips an eyebrow at their mother’s nearly empty glass and Lizzie obediently plays her part, “What’s your theory Mom?”_

__

_Mrs. Bennet pours herself more wine before whispering with wide eyes, “I think he has the world’s smallest penis.”_

__

_Jane blushes, Lydia cackles, Bing smiles because he didn’t know what else to do, and Lizzie wants to sink through the floor. Thank god her father is hiding in his study working on his trains._

__

_“Mom Will and I never…”_

__

_“Phosh, you two were doing it all over the place. Don’t lie to your mother. It’s a sin.”_

__

_Lydia drains her own glass of wine and stretches, “I thought premarital sex was a sin too, Mom.”_

__

_Mrs. Bennet lifts and drops one shoulder with haphazard commitment, “It depends…”_

__

_Jane’s eyebrows are nearly to her hairline and Bing is beet red._

__

_“Depends on what?” Lydia grins and tops off everyone’s glass._

__

_“You can’t blame a girl if a guy is a good lay . For example your father -,”_

__

_“OKAY, let’s talk about anything else,” Lizzie bursts out and Jane and Bing nod, but Mrs. Bennet is not to be deterred._

__

_“No, no, no, I want to talk about William Darcy’s penis,” her head swivels over to Lizzie, “I mean he’s rich and handsome and you two used to spend SO much time talking. You literally talked through the night. You both used so many words. I would get a headache just thinking about it. Your father and I never talked that much and we’ve been married for years so the only thing I reason I can think you’d break up with him would be his dick.”_

__

_“Mom, it was complicated…,” Lizzie stammers. Nothing in her life prepared her for this conversation._

__

_“Elizabeth,” her mother wags a finger at her, “you complicate things too much. You always have. When you were four years-old you wouldn’t cross the street to go to kindergarten until you had seen the credentials of the cross guard. You didn’t trust that he knew what he was doing. You make everything more complicated than it actually is.”_

__

_“Lizzie has a lot of plans, Mom,” Jane offers diplomatically. “That complicates her life.”_

__

_“When I was 22-years old I had two daughters both in diapers and your father took a job here in California. I was a girl from Georgia who had never been past the Mason-Dixon and suddenly I was surrounded by people who didn’t look like me and who thought my accent meant I was stupid. I was so far from my own mother and I certainly had no idea how to be one myself, but I had you and Lizzie so I had to figure it out and I did, but do you think that was planned? Do you think I would have done it that way if I could helped it? No, complicated has nothing to do with plans.”_

__

_Mrs. Bennet takes a shuddering breath and takes another gulp of wine._

__

_“That’s why I never understood what happened with you and William Darcy, Lizzie. You weren’t going to have to choose him over your plans. Anyone with eyes could see you were in love with each other. So here I am raking my brain to think how my whip smart daughter would let something as precious as that slip away from her and the only thing I can come up with is that he’s terrible in bed. Or gay. He’s not gay, is he? Because I’m very supportive of the gays, though I don’t suggest you marry one.”_

__

_“Mom, you can’t say the gays,” Lizzie says._

__

_Mrs. Bennet rolls her eyes and looks around the table, “See what I mean by making everything complicated than it needs to be?”_

__

_“Mom -,”_

__

_“No,” Mrs. Bennet holds up a hand, “I’m going to finish and you all are going to listen to me for once.” She eyes all of them and Lizzie meets her gaze across the table. Her mother’s eyes aren’t glassy anymore. Rather they are bright and dark and for a second Lizzie has the feeling like she is staring into the lens of her camera, except they are her mother’s eyes and it is much scarier._

__

_“Plans is just a fancy word for preferences and those have nothing to do with real life. In real life we make choices and we live with them, good or bad. I know you girls think your father and I don’t make a whole lot of sense together. I’ll admit that we were never as in love as you and Bing are, Jane or as passionate as you Lydia or well suited as you and William Darcy were, Lizzie. But your father and I made a choice and then we made another one and another one each day to love one another and stay together despite our plans,” the wine in Mrs. Bennet’s glass sloshed as she leaned forward and dropped her voice, “and I’m damn proud of that.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

“Can we go yet?” Charlotte leans on an elbow and holds her head up with a palm.

“I just want to say hello to Dr. Gardner,” Lizzie glances at the head table where sister #17 is making a toast. Charlotte grunts and Lizzie frowns. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Charlotte shifts in her chair, “This is only, like, the 12th wedding I’ve been to this year and exactly how I wanted to spend my Christmas Eve.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Charlotte’s eyes flick over the head table where Dr. Gardner is hugging her sister and both of them are crying. Lizzie is confused. Charlotte has never talked about wanting to be married. She doesn’t even have time to talk about marriage. She’s busy running Collins & Collins and working on an independent film she’s helping co-produce. Lizzie thought life as it was held enough for Charlotte. Could she be wrong? How could Charlotte want to be married and Lizzie not know it?

It’s true that in the past year Lizzie has been gone. She took consulting jobs in London and Tokyo. After so many years of hard work her production company is starting to come into its own and she’s needed to be everywhere at once. Christmas was supposed to be a time for her reconnect with Charlotte and her family; it was supposed to be happy and easy. Instead, it’s turning into this tangled nest of the past and future.

She turns to her best friend, but Charlotte just hugs her hands around her stomach and stares at her lap. Lizzie coughs to cover up the fact that she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m going to go get another drink,” she says, “want me to get you something?”

“No,” Charlotte says flatly.

Lizzie isn’t proud of it, but she escapes. She gets up and pretends to head toward the bar. Of course she steers in the opposite direction once she’s disappeared in the crowd of people. People are moving toward the dance floor and she finds herself swept in the crowd. That’s fine. She just needs a minute to collect her thoughts. She eyes a spot against the wall near the DJ where she can blend in with the collection of people too old to dance. Just a few minutes. That’s all she needs to gather her thoughts. Between George and William and Charlotte’s strange sadness Lizzie feels like the earth is tipping beneath her and she’s grabbing for anything to steady herself.

She tells herself its the wine and the memories of her mother’s censure last Christmas. It’s the morbid what if’s that have been swimming around in her head all evening since she saw William. That was a dangerous path to travel down and she does everything she can to slam the doors shut. She wants to lock her heart up tight just so she can get through Christmas. She can’t get dragged into melodrama and regrets. She made her choices and she’s damn happy with them.

Right?

When Lizzie reaches the wall, she steadies herself with a hand against the gilded wallpaper. The DJ is announcing something, but Lizzie really isn’t paying attention. She’s trying to remind herself that she chose this. This is what she wanted. A year ago she’d been given the chance to change the story and she hadn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

_“But why are you marrying her?” Lizzie says it, but loses her nerve and looks down at her beer. She doesn’t want to see his face when he answers. She doesn’t want to hear the answer at all, but William came here looking for a friend and that’s what she is going to be to him even if it hurts._

__

_His head knocks back against the wall. “Because I want a family.”_

__

_Her chest literally hurts. She presses her fingertips against her breastbone and bites her lip._

__

_It hurts because he deserves a family more than anyone she knew. A wife and children. Traditions and happy moments. He deserves that. So much was taken away from him too soon. Too much was laid on his shoulders. Too much was expected of him. He deserved a happy ending._

__

_It hurts because she knows the rest of the answer, the thing he’s not saying._

__

_“You’re marrying her because you want a family and I don’t,” she whispers._

__

_“Yeah.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

Tears threaten as Lizzie recalls that night outside her apartment.

It was the truth four years ago when they broke up. It was true a year ago on the eve of his wedding. It’s the truth now.

She’s happy saving the world and changing the culture. She’s happy building her company, employing people, and telling stories. She loves being an aunt and a sister and a friend. That is her happy ending.

And yes, she’s still in love with William. Looking at him tonight makes her skin ache. It threatens tear every truth she’s told herself over the past five years into tiny pieces.

Was her mother right? Were her plans simply her preferences dressed up? Was she capable of a different ending if she’d simply chosen differently?

Lizzie imagines making plans is like trying to reach the clouds from the side of a mountain You climb and climb and climb until you reach a summit. Then you stretch out your arm and it’s only then that you realize how very far away the sky is and how very small you are in comparison to the whole wide world. You realize skimming the clouds is a foolish dream, impossible and improbable? Who spends their time trying to touch the sky? Living happens down on earth.

She wonders, dully, leaning against the wall of Dr. Gardner’s wedding reception if the after in happily ever after isn’t a promise that the fairy tale never ends. Rather, could it be a vow to continue to choose one another even when the fairytale ends? Is it possible that Lizzie walked away from her’s too soon?

 ***

_“I’m sorry.”_

__

_“So am I.”_

__

_“I never thought this would be us.”_

__

_“Neither did I.”_

 

***

She’s ready to walk away when the universe intervenes in the shape of flowers flying at her head.  She catches them on reflex and there’s a cheer from the room. People grab her arms and she’s being pulled toward the dance floor before she realizes what just happened.

She caught the fucking bouquet.

Fuck.

She’s pushed onto the floor and people pat her on the shoulder. Dr. Gardner is there in a white dress with an idiotic grin that feels weird to see on Lizzie’s esteemed mentor. She lets Dr. Gardner hug her and there is a lot of noise in her ears as another cheer goes up on the other side of the dance floor. Lizzie looks up and sees Mr. Dr Gardner slapping someone on the back and then Lizzie is pushed into the center of the dance floor and she realizes she’s expected to dance with the man turning toward her, the man holding the garter, and then the music begins and it’s the same song from all those years ago. It’s the same damn song from the Gibson wedding. There is a pounding in her ears because really things like this don’t happen in real life. Real life is not a fairy tale with second chances and soundtracks.

Lizzie knows this to be true because it isn’t William Darcy standing in front of her.

It’s George Wickham.

 

***

_Slow down you crazy child_

_You're so ambitious for a juvenile_

_But then if you're so smart tell me,_

_Why are you still so afraid?_

-Vienna, Billy Joel

 

***

“Everyone’s watching, Lizzie,” George smirks.

Lizzie looks over her shoulder at Dr. Gardner, looking so happy it hurts to see, and she steps forward because she doesn't know what else to do. She actually shudders when George puts his hand on her waist and pulls her close.

He smells good.

That’s her first thought when her chin bumps his shoulder. Their stomachs press together and his fingers wrap around her’s. He is still strong and good looking. It isn’t fair, she thinks vaguely, that someone so terrible should be allowed to hold onto youth like George Wickham has.

“Relax,” his mouth brushes her ear and Lizzie jerks in his arms. She almost stops, but he holds on a little tighter and it draws her gaze up to finally meet his eye.

“You’re not even a guest here,” she hisses. She notices he’s shed the black vest and with his white shirtsleeves rolled up he could be anyone.

“I wanted to talk to you so after you caught the bouquet I made sure I caught the garter.”

“Are you insane?” Her eyes narrow to slits, “You are a terrible human being. A manipulative ass who is nothing more than a leech.There is nothing you can say to me. that I want to hear.”

A corner of his mouth ticks up, “You really are a judgmental bitch.”

She steps out of his grasp and George puts up his hands. He backs up so Lizzie stands alone in the center of the dance floor, spotlighted, alone.   

“Lydia forgave me years ago, Lizzie. I thought maybe if you’d let me apologize you would too.” George says. She doesn’t know if anyone else can hear him over the music, but she can feel their eyes on her as George walks away. Their pity tingles across her shoulder blades.

The tears are there now and Lizzie doesn’t care about trying to keep them at bay. This really is the worst night of her life. And just as they are about spill down her cheeks in front of all these strangers a strong hand grasps her own.

“May I have this dance?”

It’s William. Of course it is.

She ducks her head as he pulls her tight against him. Unlike with George it feels familiar, warm, and safe in his arms. One hand anchors low on her back and his thumb skims the bare skin where her dress dips down. She leans against him and she can feel his exhale as she does.

“That may have been the most awkward dance ever,” she mutters into his neck.

“Don’t give that award to George Wickham. That one is mine,” he smiles and Lizzie can’t help it - she smiles back up at him.

Their eyes lock and Lizzie feels the tug deep in her gut. It’s a fluttering happiness.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Always.”

And he says it so simply as if it is the easiest thing in the world  that Lizzie can’t help herself. She has to tell him. William offered himself to her years ago without reservation. The least she can do is finally return the favor.

“I lied that night,” she says, “I lied when you asked me if we had a chance.”

 

 

***

_“Tomorrow you should marry Christine. I’ll never be able to give you what you want and you deserve to be happy. I can’t stand the thought of making you unhappy. So walk down that aisle tomorrow. Be a father and husband. Be happy. Stop waiting for me to change my mind because it’s never going to happen.”_

***

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” she tells him.

She forces her chin up so she has to look straight at him when she says it. His eyes are a dark blue that she can’t read. Their feet are still moving, but it doesn’t feel like it. Lizzie feels like she is finally standing still after years of moving, climbing, trying to skim the sky.

“Lizzie -,”

“Just let me get this out,” she takes a deep, shuddering breath, “before the song ends and this all stops being some convoluted fairy tale.”

His brow creases. “Alright.”

“I love you William Darcy. You’re the love of my life and I know this makes me pathetic cause you’re married and I had my chance.”

“Lizzie -,”

She knocks him with a shoulder, “I told you to let me talk.”

He smiles and the heaviness in her chest lifts a little. “Like I could stop you.”

“I had so many chances,” she hurries because she can hear the song winding down, “But every time I ran away because I was afraid. I was afraid of losing myself or worse never being myself at all. I was afraid that choosing you meant not choosing me and I didn’t want that. I wanted to choose me, which I know makes me sound like the most selfish person ever. And everyone thinks I was crazy for letting you slip away from me, but I don’t regret it. I like my life. I’m glad I chose me four years ago,” and there it is - the tears as she puts words to the truth about herself.

She doesn’t regret walking away from him, but she’s never stopped loving him either.

She is entirely that selfish.

And then the song ends and Lizzie knows how it works. This is the end to the fairy tale.

“Lizzie -,”

She ducks her head into his shoulder and shakes her head, “Please, don’t say anything.”

“Lizzie, look at me.”

“Really, let’s pretend I never said anything. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I just couldn’t go on without you knowing the truth.”

“Lizzie look at my hand.”

There is no ring on his finger.

***

_After she told him there is nothing to do but say goodbye. It’s awkward. There is no way for it not to be. They stand a few feet apart in front of her door._

__

_“Good luck, Will,” she holds out her hand._

__

_But he arches an eyebrow and pulls her to him. She buries her face in his chest one last time, memorizing his scent and the feel of his favorite brand of shirt against her cheek. She catalogs it because she knows she’ll come back to this moment again. She’ll relive it in her mind._

__

_The last time William Darcy could have been her’s. Tomorrow he’ll belong to Mrs. William Darcy, a woman not Lizzie. A woman that Lizzie will never - could never - be._

__

_And for that reason she kisses him. She pushes up on her toes and holds his face with both hands. At first his lips are still beneath her’s, but Lizzie slants her mouth and he kisses her back. His head dips down, his hands come up to stroke her spine and pull her closer. She winds her hands around his neck and their bodies stretch against one another. It’s a yearning, greedy touch._

__

_“I realize I’m sending mixed messages,” she gets the words out as his mouth drops to her jaw and down the column of her throat._

__

_“Lizzie.”_

__

_“Yeah?”_

__

_“Shut up.”_

__

_He spins her around and presses her into her door. Lizzie can feel their control unraveling. Their lips are getting sloppy; their hands are fumbling on belts and buttons. She is out of breath and pulls on his hair to drag his mouth back against her own. His hands cup her thighs and pull her off her feet entirely, winding her legs around his waist and then his hands skim beneath her shirt and his skin against her own is like fire. How can anyone feel this way and not burst?_

__

_“I love you.”_

__

_He says it as he kisses the swell of her breast along the collar of her shirt and it’s like a bucket of cold water._

__

_“Will, we can’t. Stop.” He stills, his hands still gripping her skin like a brand.“You’re getting married tomorrow,” she whispers and he sinks against her. His head curves into her neck and she feels him nod. Lizzie brings her feet back to the floor, closes her eyes, and skims her nose across his jaw. “Goodbye Will,” she whispers before turning the knob to her apartment. She disappears behind the door without looking at him. She pushes it shut and slides down to the floor. She sits very still and waits. She waits for a long time, hearing his agony in the fact that he doesn't leave right away. But eventually he does and Lizzie lets herself finally cry. On the floor of her apartment she cries and pieces together her last memory of William Darcy. It’s a memory of salty tears on her skin, the scent of mint from his aftershave, and a hollowness in her stomach. It’s all she’ll let herself take with her._

 

 

***

_Too bad, but it's the life you lead_

_You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need_

_Though you can see when you're wrong_

_You know you can't always see when you're right_

\- Vienna, Billy Joel

 

***

Because life isn’t a fairy tale Lizzie doesn’t kiss him there on the dance floor.

It’s too much.

He isn’t married. She told him to get married. She practically pushed him out of her arms and into the embrace of another woman. A woman he has a child with. What happened to his child? She realizes she doesn’t even know if he has a son or a daughter.

It’s too much.

“Lizzie.”

It’s Charlotte. She’s elbowed her way onto the dance floor and she looks at Lizzie with tears brimming.

“Lizzie, can we go? Please? I need to go.”

And because her best friend needs her, Lizzie steps away. She looks at William and tries to tell him with her eyes, _it’s too much_. He squeezes her fingers, a pressure that makes her smile because she was right. He can read her gestures and expressions.

She steps off the dance floor holding Charlotte’s hand tight. As soon as they’re out of the ballroom she can hear Charlotte start to cry and she leads her to the car silently. She takes the keys from her friend’s purse and gets in the driver seat. She waits for Charlotte to climb in and without asking she drives them away from the wedding.

 

***

Charlotte and Lizzie take that cruise.

They book it the next morning and over their annual Christmas Day breakfast at Denny’s Charlotte explains the reason for her sadness.

“I don’t want to get married,” she says in a rush. “I know it. I’m happy being single.”

“Ok-ay,” Lizzie says slowly, “so what happened last night?”

Charlotte lifts a shoulder, “Dr. Gardner was one of the few women I knew who wasn’t married and happy that way. I looked at her and thought maybe I wasn’t so strange. Maybe I’m just one kind of person, different from most people, happier alone than with someone.”

It starts to make sense.

“But then she got married…”

“Yeah,” Charlotte pushes her waffles around in the maple syrup pooled on her plate, “I mean I told myself it wasn’t a big deal, but then we got there and I saw her and she really did look happier and I listened to all those toasts from her sisters about how she finally got her happy ending.”

Lizzie reaches across the table and grabs her friend’s wrist, “Charlotte you’re not Dr. Gardner. You can be happy being single for the rest of your life.”

“But people are always going to think, it’s too bad that Charlotte Lu never found someone,” she shakes her head, “and that sucks. It sucks that my life choices are second tier to people.”

“Screw them.”

Charlotte smiles half-heartedly, “I’ll get over it. I have too. I just worry I’m making the wrong choice. How do I really know this is what I want? Are my plans completely futile because someday I’ll meet some great guy, fall in love, and suddenly my life will find real meaning and purpose?” She wrinkles her nose, “Cause listening to those toasts last night it felt like like it’s true.”

Truth, Lizzie thinks, is relative.

Lizzie pauses, “Did you know that William Darcy never got married?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Lizzie, you said yes to a consulting job in London the week of his wedding. You literally ran to another continent.”

“But that was a year ago.”

“And you said you were over him.”

“But you still didn’t tell me,” Lizzie looks away, “why?”

Charlotte pinches the bridge of her nose, “Cause you had all these plans and you were so hell bent on them. Every time Darcy came up you assured me you were glad he was married. You couldn’t give him what he wanted and you were happier without that guilt now that he was married with a kid. I don’t know...I was trying to protect you from the fact that he loved you so much he called off his wedding for you.” She finishes lamely.

“You don’t know if was for me,” Lizzie mutters.

“Yes I do.”

“How?”

“Cause he told me.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

***

_Charlotte watches from the back table as the bouquet pelts Lizzie in the head. She snorts and drains her glass. Serves Lizzie right. She loves her best friend more than anything, but she’d been a jerk earlier, running away instead of asking why Charlotte was hell bent on getting drunk at this wedding._

__

_She is hell bent on getting drunk. She’s so determined that she keeps returning to George Wickham for wine even though he clearly doesn’t remember her. If he did he wouldn’t wink and flirt with her for tips._

__

_But she doesn’t tell Lizzie about him being here because she doesn’t want to make her friend’s night worse. It’s bad enough she’s spent the whole reception staring a hole the size of the sun into Darcy’s back._

__

_Charlotte sighs and flips through her twitter feed. She really doesn’t have time for all this drama. Catherine de Baurgh just discovered Twitter and it’s making Charlotte’s life hell. Besides with Lizzie everything is always so more complicated than it needed to be._

__

_Lizzie loves Darcy and Darcy loves Lizzie. That’s it. End of story. Happily ever after. The rest is just logistics. But not for Lizzie. Everything has to be overwrought. Charlotte loves her best friend, but she won’t pretend Lizzie isn’t her own worst enemy when it comes to her own happiness. She just can’t get out of her own way._

__

_There is another cheer as Mr. Dr. Gardner flings a garter through the air and Charlotte rolls her eyes. She knows she should have a better attitude, but the truth is she really doesn’t want to be here. She feels bad about that - as if something in her is broken. People love weddings the way they love puppies and babies. It’s a universal human trait. Except it’s not. Charlotte doesn’t really care for any of those things. Rather, she gets excited by scripts and editing software and project management. And her happiness can’t even be vicarious because Lizzie is just as miserable at this wedding as Charlotte is._

__

_And then she looks up and sees Lizzie dancing with George and her own sadness fades. She stands and looks for Darcy. She knows he isn’t anywhere near the dance floor cause he’d never stand by and watch this happen._

__

_She makes a quick survey of the ballroom, but can’t find him and retreats to the hotel lobby, her steps falling fast on the carpet and the pleasant drunk feeling wringing out of her muscles._

__

_He’s in the lobby. His head is ducked and he is pacing as he talks on the phone.  As Charlotte approaches she picks up the last bits of conversation._

__

_“Christine, I really wanted to say Merry Christmas to her….yes I know I’m the one at a wedding….but you made the choice to take her to Vermont for the holidays. You didn’t give me the choice of being there. The least you could have done was texted me when you were putting her to bed and I would have stepped out to call….yes I know she’s only a few months old, but it’s her first Christmas and it matters to me.” Darcy sees her and stops pacing. His jaw is set and he says in a clipped tone, “Christine, I need to go. But we’re going to talk about this. You can’t keep me from my daughter.”_

__

_“It’s Lizzie,” Charlotte says after he hangs up, “she could use a little rescuing and not the kind that usually falls in best friend category.”_

__

_They stand an uncomfortable distance apart. Charlotte fidgets and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. She and William Darcy were never really friends. He was part of Lizzie’s life and therefore part of Charlotte’s, but they never really became friends._

__

_“Aren’t you coming?” she jerks her thumb in the direction of the ballroom._

__

_“Lizzie made it clear a year ago she didn’t want anything to do with me,” he says, “I doubt that’s changed.”_

__

_Seriously, Charlotte does not have time for this._

__

_She closes her eyes and raises both her hands up, fists curled tight. “Will the two of you get over yourselves already? She loves you. She’s never stopped loving you. How can you not see that?”_

__

_“We talked the night before my wedding,” he says, “and she turned me away. Again.”_

__

_“But you still didn’t get married. That means something”_

__

_He looks at the ground, “I didn’t get married because it would have been dishonorable. It wasn’t because I love Lizzie. I went to Lizzie looking for an out. We kissed, but she didn’t give it to me. I had to make my own choice. It was the hardest choice I ever had to make. Harder than breaking up with Lizzie four years ago. Christine was going to be the mother of my daughter. She loved me and I broke her heart. I broke up our family because I was too selfish to settle.”_

__

_Like she said - she doesn’t have time for complications like this. Lizzie and Darcy could talk this out some other time, alone, while Charlotte was busy doing something else, anything else._

__

_So she takes charge. She grabs Darcy by the wrist and she ignores the way he flinches from the unwelcome contact. Pulling him after her, Charlotte weaves her way through the crowded ballroom until they stand on the edge of the dance floor. She hears Darcy’s intake of breath when he sees Lizzie standing there being yelled at by George Wickham._

__

_“She loves you,” Charlotte says gently, “and you love her. The rest will figure itself out.”_

__

_Charlotte stands there watching Darcy approach her best friend and she finds there is one love story she does care about. They were ridiculous most of the time, but those two stupid, idiots make her happy. She watches as the dance floor fills up. Dr. Gardner floats by in the arms of her husband and Charlotte feels a pang of something she doesn’t quite understand. It’s regret. Regret that she likes being on her own more than most people. Regret that she doesn't belong in a world of dancing couples and blushing brides._

__

_Regret that it hurts her as much as it does._

***

They schedule their cruise over Valentine’s Day on purpose.

There are oversized floppy hats that make them feel like movie stars, afternoons spent sunning themselves on the pool deck, and hot waiters with brightly colored drinks for them to sip slowly under stars.

It is the most romantic weekend of Lizzie’s life and she spends it with her best friend.

And it is fabulous.

Sometimes they talked about men. Sometimes they talked about work or family or books or nothing really at all. They just laugh and made a scene and have more fun than everyone else around them.

And it was alright. It was right. For the first time since Dr. Gardner’s wedding - actually probably for the first time since William knocked on her door over a year ago - Lizzie doesn’t feel at a crossroads. She isn’t questioning the choices that brought her to this place. She isn’t wondering about the future. Instead, she’s just glad she’s here with Charlotte. And when she gets home she has a company that she loves and a family excited that she’ll be home more this year and not abroad. Life is right. It’ll all be alright.

“Lizzie, we need to talk about it.” Charlotte tips back her glass of wine.

It’s their last night on the cruise and Lizzie is mildly buzzed. They sit in a circular booth tucked away from the stage where their dinner entertainment croons a ballad.

“About what?”

“William Darcy and why you spent Valentine’s Day with me.”

“You’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t I spend it with you?”

Charlotte tips her head, “Cause you’re in love with him and two months ago you found out you get this amazing second chance to be with him. Yet, here you are.”

Lizzie ducks her head, “I told him I love him. That doesn’t mean he loves me back.”

“He canceled his wedding because he doesn’t want to be with anyone besides you.”

“He has a daughter.”

Charlotte lifts a shoulder, “That’s something to consider. You always said you never wanted to have kids.”

“I don’t.” Lizzie pinches the bridge of her nose, “I mean I don’t think I do. I know I’m not willing to sacrifice everything I want just to have kids and I figure if you have one you better want them over everything else.”

They sit there for a long time, watching the lounge singer belt out Billy Joel, until Charlotte straightens.

“I think your premise is wrong.”

“What premise?”

“That having kids is an either/or. You either are a parent or you are a person. I don’t think that’s right.”

“Charlotte -,”

“Lizzie I’m not saying you have to want kids. I don’t want them. I know that. If you feel that way that’s fine. It means you can’t be with Darcy, but that’s okay too. Your choices are your choices,” Charlotte touches Lizzie’s wrist, “But I’d hate for you to miss out on someone who makes you really happy because you think you have to choose him over yourself. Love doesn’t work that way. It isn’t an either/or.”

Lizzie squeezes Charlotte’s hand and smiles sadly, “I’m pretty sure 3rd wave feminism proved life isn’t a fairy tale. Women can’t have it all.”

Charlotte groans, “You really are an idiot.”

***

In the end it’s George Wickham who says what Lizzie needs to hear.

He shows up at Lizzie’s offices midday on her birthday.

It’s late March and there’s a storm outside. March - in like a lion and out like a lamb, her mother used to say. Lizzie always loved having a March birthday for that reason. She feels like the tempestuous month is mirror to herself. Always at odds with itself. Contradictory. Difficult. But also - a time of new beginnings and second chances as winter fades into spring.

George shows up when Lizzie is the only one in the office and he takes her by surprise. She’s barefoot, listening to classic rock, and working on a marketing plan for their latest project, a series of digital shorts for UNICEF. It’s not the type of project that’ll bring in a lot of money, but it is the kind that Lizzie wants to do. After years of hard work they are finally able to afford to take on projects like this.

“You look really happy,” George says. He leans against the door to her office, arms crossed, hair falling across his forehead.

Lizzie jumps, but recovers quickly. She sits straight and clears her throat.

“What are you doing here?”

He steps into her office and sits down in the chair opposite her desk. “I want to talk to you.”

“I thought I made myself clear at Dr. Gardner’s wedding.”

He smirks, “You did. But I’ve got something to say and you’re going to listen because it’s the least you can do.”

She raises an eyebrow, “The least I can do?”

“Yeah, cause when someone is trying to say they’re sorry the least you can do is listen.”

She snorts, “You really have a lot of nerve.”

He shrugs, “And you’ve got a lot of pride considering the fact that you weren’t the victim in all this.”

“Yeah, my sister was. You. screwed. over. my. sister.”

“And four years ago I apologized to her. I should have asked her permission before selling that tape.”

“You shouldn’t have made the tape to begin with.” Lizzie blusters.

“That is something your sister and I did together,” George points a finger, “She knew she was being filmed. That wasn’t exactly true for some of your videos.”

“Are you seriously comparing my video diaries to your sex tape?”

He grins and shakes his head, “You always thought you were morally superior to everyone else.”

“I think you should leave.”

He bows his head for a moment and Lizzie watches him. She wonders what happened to turn him into such an egotistical ass. She wonders how his brain works to justify himself. She wonders, but she doesn’t really care to go looking for an explanation.

 

It’s easier for him to just be the bad guy.

When George looks up at her Lizzie can’t read his expression. The usual cockiness is gone, but she doesn’t trust him. His eyes are too blue, too opaque, for there to be any real understanding between them.

“I really am sorry Lizzie Bennet. I’m sorry I hurt Lydia. She was the only one who ever believed in me and I should have asked her permission. I was desperate because William Darcy shortchanged me. He took away my future, but I still shouldn’t have done what I did to Lydia.”

He stands up and is almost out the door when Lizzie finds her voice.

“Why do this now? Why come tell me now? After all these years?”

He looks over his shoulder and for the first time, under the harsh fluorescent lights of her office, Lizzie sees shadows on his face and she can glimpse the ugliness beneath all that beauty. It isn’t a horrific ugliness the way monsters are ugly in fairytales. It’s something quieter, a slow degradation over time as youth fades away and there will be nothing left to replace. No substance. No heart.

“Cause I never let pride stand in the way of admitting the truth,” he says and then is gone and Lizzie is left alone.

***

She shows up on his doorstep in the rain and it only occurs to Lizzie later that sometimes life does resemble a story. In the moment, Lizzie isn’t thinking of anything but the fact that she needs to talk to him.

She sails right past the doorman of his apartment building and punches in the security code to the penthouse apartment elevator. All these years later she still knows it by heart. In the elevator she paces.

What should she say?

_I’m sorry. I don’t have regrets, but also I want to be with you. I want to be me with you. Not Mrs. William Darcy. The kid thing makes me nervous. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t have regrets. Did I say that already? Okay. I did. What else? I am not the kind of girl you should want to be with. I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you. I’ve always been afraid of disappointing you. You’re so much better at loving people than I am. But I’m selfish enough that I want you to love me. Do you? Will you?_

“I’ve been waiting for you my entire life. Of course. Of course I’ll love you. I always have.”

Lizzie realizes she’s said it all aloud. She said it as soon as the elevator doors opened into his apartment and she’s standing there on a threshold with William Darcy staring at her from across the room from her in disbelief. He’s in dress pants and a white undershirt and a burp rag on his shoulder. He stands there with a slow smile on his face and Lizzie takes a deep shuddering breath.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

She feels the heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m sorry to burst in here like that. I probably interrupted something.”

“Actually I thought you were the delivery man.”

She smiles wryly, “Chinese?”

“Actually yes.”

She bites her lip, “So that speech I just made?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant it.”

“You better,” he says and it sinks in that as they’ve been talking he’s moved toward her and now he is just inches away, hovering above her, and she can feel the warmth of his skin. “Cause I’m going to kiss you and it’ll be really embarrassing if you take it back.”

“I’m done with that.”

“About damn time.”

He kisses her and its the best kiss of her life. It’s better than the first time she kissed him. It’s better than all her daydreams and it’s better than that kiss the night before his wedding. It’s better because she isn’t frightened. She offers herself to him without reservation. His hands are on her and she’s pulling on him, clutching, trying to get as close as possible because after so many years all she wants to do is press her skin to his skin until there is no space between them.

His lips are on her throat and he backs her up so she is pressed against the cool metal of the elevator doors. Her fingers inch up his back and land on the burp rag on his shoulder.

“Your daughter,” she pulls back. “Should we be doing this if she’s here?”

“She’s not here,” he dips his head back down to kiss her.

Between kisses Lizzie makes a noise. “Then why did you have this?”

He pulls back confused, “Oh, she was here. Her mother just came to pick her up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to take it off.”

Lizzie wrinkles her nose, “That’s kind of cute.”

The lust fades from his eyes and he surveys her, “Lizzie, my daughter isn’t negotiable. I can compromise on a lot of things, but on her -,”

“I know,” she swallows, “I know. I’m not going to pretend that she doesn’t scare me. She does. But I want to be with you. Charlotte said loving someone isn’t an either/or. I don’t have to choose you or me. Real life is something is something in-between our plans and our preferences.”

The corners of his mouth tick up in a slow smile, “What changed your mind?”

“Someone reminded me that pride is a stupid reason to deny what’s already true. I love you and I want this. It’s complicated, but I like complicated. I don’t want the fairytale. I want the after.”

 

***

_Slow down you're doing fine_

_You can't be everything you want to be before your time_

_Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight_

\- Vienna, Bill Joel

  
***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this! I know it's not a traditional LBD fic and it certainly isn't fluff, but I hope you like it none-the-less. And of course, please let me know what you think! I'd love to know.


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